


An Ode to the Shoulders of Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, PhD.

by damnromulans (beastofaburden)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastofaburden/pseuds/damnromulans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a giant lizard man is not the only one who thinks Leonard McCoy has a good body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ode to the Shoulders of Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, PhD.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to dedicate this entirely silly and coffee fuelled fic to Amanda (kingeomer.tumblr.com), for enabling my crippling crush on Karl Urban; Camille (leighway.tumblr.com), for much the same thing but also posting a poem by Ali Shapiro which really doesn't have that much to do with the finished product now but inspired me to write porn anyway; Frankie (lucymcclane.tumblr.com), who has put up with me screaming at her via inbox about these idiots for months now; and whoever designed THOSE wetsuits. The events in the middle of this fic are inspired by the TOS episode "The Naked Time."

Jim Kirk has just received his first death threat of the week. And about time, too.

The Lakuru aren’t actually that scary once you get to know them, and he is fully aware that the promise of a watery demise is more of a formality than anything. In fact, if he thought that he wouldn’t get his head bitten off (literally), he’d say that Chief Taranum sounds vaguely regretful about issuing it. 

Instead, he only nods seriously.

“The Federation respects the traditions of the Lakuru-kind, Chief Taranum. I offer myself as champion to complete the task.”

The challenge is, of course, to swim out to a tiny speck of rock sitting out in the ocean, collect the eggs of what could be a sea eagle, and swim back. With their impressive looking gills, scales and webbed digits, this would take any self-respecting Lakuru about half an hour. Humans? Not so much. Additionally, whilst Spock was able to determine that the water itself wouldn’t do him any damage, the strongest sensors on the Enterprise couldn’t get a read of what was actually _in_ it. 

But that’s okay. Going boldly and shit. Besides, it’s the first time he’s been able to try out the Starfleet-issue wetsuits that have just been taking up space since they set out a few months ago. It’ll be fun.

So, of course, this is where they hit a snag.

The Chief looks back to his advisors. They exchange a series of snorts and grunts that the universal translator can’t seem to get a read on. Jim looks back at Uhura, who can only offer a constrained shrug. The rest of the landing party seems to have as much of an idea about what is going on as he does.

Taranum takes his sweet time before turning back to the humans. And when he does... 

“Tradition tells champion must be greatest of tribe.”

“As Captain, I-“

“Not Chief, human-kind. Greatest. Strongest.”

Jim fails to see where Taranum is going with this, until he looks pointedly at the landing party. One particular member of the landing party, actually. 

The Chief approaches Bones reverently.  
“You will go, Champion.”

Bones looks the Lakuru up and down, completely non-plussed by the lizard man that’s currently towering over him.

“Oh, _hell_ no,” he growls. 

Jim can see Taranum’s heckles go up from a mile-away. Oh shit. It’s time to play diplomat. 

“What Dr. McCoy means to say, Chief,” he keeps his tone clipped and authorative, strides back to the assembled group with a single-minded purpose that basically boils down to _make sure Bones doesn’t get eaten_ , “is that medical officers are not human-kind’s designated strongest-”

“His body is strongest. It is greater than yours.”

God, if Uhura’s well-timed coughing fit has anything to do with covering up a laugh he will fucking _court martial her_. Spock’s eyebrows are arched so high Jim’s surprised they’re not causing him pain and Bones is just scowling so determinedly that hell, if Jim were a giant lizard, he’d probably think he was a tough-guy too.

Jim considers arguing, even though he knows it would set back negotiations another few days. They wouldn’t derail it completely, he’s confident of that - Taranum’s not an unreasonable guy. He just wants to make sure he’s doing everything right by his people. 

Jim can relate to that. Hence the ‘let’s not send the CMO for a dip’ thing. 

Turns out, the decision is made for him.

“Fine.” Bones grunts. He turns on his heel and starts towards the brightly-decorated jetty that is their start and finish line. The other Lakuru break out into the hissing noises they use instead of applause. Chief Taranum looks to Jim and gestures for him to go ahead, and follow Bones out onto the water.

Oh, like he’d be able to fucking _stop_ him.

“Bones, what the hell, man?” He keeps his voice low enough that the onlookers can’t hear him, but loud enough that the Bones can understand the full extent of his crazy.

Jim barely catches the medical utility belt that gets tossed at him, which he in turn tosses back to Spock. 

“It’s not that far, Jim.” They reach the end of the jetty. He pulls off his boots, his trousers and his science blues with a thoughtful ruthlessness that pretty much echoes how annoyed they’re both feeling. “’Sides, if I have to stay on this damn planet any longer than I have to I’m going to start ripping the fucking Chief’s scales off.”

He tosses Jim his newly discarded uniform. Jim takes the opportunity to survey Bones in his wetsuit – totally objectively, of course. Because Bones is _not_ that much more built than he is, surely. Yeah, he’s pretty sturdy – he’s a Starfleet officer, they don’t sit on their asses all day – but apart from the muscled legs and strong arms and broad chest and thick shoulders he is not that much ‘greater’ than Jim.

Really.

This all flies out the window about two minutes later, when Bones is fucking cutting through the water with a streamlined freestyle and Jim can practically see individual muscles bulging in his shoulders through the suit. Because _damn_.

“Dr. McCoy is quite skilled,” Spock muses. “Perhaps Chief Taranum was correct in his assessment, Captain.”

It takes every inch of Jim’s captainly resolve not to toss Spock off the jetty too.

~

Like a lot of other complicated and bothersome things in Jim’s life, he allows the implications of the Lakuru incident to slide.

It’s not that hard, really. He needed to spend more time in the gym anyway. And it’s not as if Bones’ ‘greatness’ is a startling revelation or anything – they’ve known each other for, what, almost four years now? It took Jim about four _minutes_ to figure that beneath the vomit stained jacket, Bones had it going on. 

Still, there are lines Jim won’t cross, and then there are lines Jim _won’t cross_. And from that very first day, Bones sat behind the latter, along with his heaping pile of issues and a creeping, taunting voice that whispered “Don’t fuck this up, Jimmy” whenever things got too quiet. 

So, Bones’ hotness was incidental, really. 

Emphasis on _was_. 

Because right now Bones’ body is a lot of things, but it’s sure as fuck not incidental.

Jim knows he has a job to do. He knows that the Enterprise is spiraling slowly into the middle of a planet that is falling apart. He knows that something from said planet has turned more than half his crew into a pile of nerves and impulses. He knows that unless Bones can get this cure figured out and airborne in the next fifteen minutes all one thousand, one hundred and three people under his command are going to be subject to a fiery and, frankly, pretty embarrassing, death. 

But God damn, Bones’ fucking _shoulders_.

He stripped off his blues about two minutes ago, because even beyond the effects of the infection the ship wide temperature is about ten degrees above normal right now. But even so, Bones’ stupid undershirt is stuck to his skin from all the sweat and he’s hunched over a console and the movement of his shoulder blades is pretty much the most important thing Jim has ever encountered. 

“Chapel,” he barks. His voice is rough from all the yelling he’s been doing. A tinny reply sounds from the intercom, but Jim’s not listening. All he can think about is how _he_ wants to make Bones yell. He wants to see if he’s really getting any stronger and fucking rip that shirt off Bones’ torso, wants to hold him in place whilst he licks and kisses and bites those shoulders until they’re clean of sweat and dirtied by his marks. 

God, but Bones would fight back, wouldn’t he? And whilst Jim’s been working out, so has Bones, and he’s got a head start so he’d probably just wrench himself out of Jim’s grasp and push him back against the wall and just hold him there Jesus _Christ_ they need this damn cure and they need it now because Jim can’t think.

“Twelve minutes to planetary impact,” says the stupidly calm computer voice. It makes Jim want to punch a wall.

Bones must’ve finished with Chapel, because he’s back to muttering underneath his breath whilst he works. How he’s doing it, Jim has no idea, because he gave up on most ideas of productivity about twenty minutes ago when the first of the sweat started to break over his brow.

“I’m almost there, Captain. I’ve just gotta lock down this last-”

“Don’t call me Captain. Not now.”

“I’ll call you whatever I like.”

The backchat shouldn’t really surprise Jim at all, because Bones is always contrary and never more so than when he’s drunk. Or, infected by a virus that makes him feel like he’s drunk. Whatever.

“There.” Bones grabs a canister from the lab counter and marches over to a terminal in the wall, slots it in and steps back with a sigh.

“It’ll take a few minutes to work.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Bones turns back to face him, crosses his arms. It makes his biceps bulge.

“We should be able to tell around the time we all fucking die, sir. You should get back to the bridge.”

Jim just closes his eyes as laughter bubbles up from his chest. God, everything is so stupid right now. Bones is so stupid. And so hot. And really one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. 

“Sulu’s got it. And Uhura too – I think I knocked Spock out earlier, though, he’ll get over it.”

“You fought with Spock again?” Oh, and that was a mistake, because Bones is marching over and grabbing his jaw and twisting his head from side to side. “Did he throttle you again? Christ, kid, do I have to give him the ‘don’t try and crush the Captain’s windpipe’ talk again?”

Jim can feel the heat radiating off Bones. He can feel Bones’ breath on his face, for fuck’s sake.

“You called me kid.”

“Well, you weren’t listening to me anyway.”

“So why all the formality before?”

Bones tightens his grip on Jim’s jaw and _wow_ , that should not be as hot as it is. 

“Because I hoping you’d take a damn hint and do your damn job and be where you need to be.”

“You have no fucking clue what I need.” It’s only then that Jim opens his eyes, finds his vision filled with Bones’ stupid face, with his stupid dilated eyes and stupid creased brow and stupid droplets of sweat that are glistening over his stupid, parted, cocksucking lips.

Lines. Crossed lines. Lines that need to be crossed, are going to be crossed, he _needs Bones_ like right now.

“Your waist isn’t as thick as mine.” Jim wraps his hands around Bones’ hips to prove the point. Bones tries to take a step back but Jim just follows him through it, so that they end up mere inches apart in the middle of the lab.

“Should’ve told Taranum that. Virtues of a strong waist. There are plenty of them.”

Bones just groans, the sound rattling from low in his chest. “Is this really about the Lakuru thing? You wanna talk about this _now_?”

“We’re going to die anyway, Bones.” Jim has a fleeting thought that his smile might be a little bit manic, but he’s practically brushing Bones’ skin every time he talks and that’s the most important thing that’s happening to his mouth right now. “We’re going to fucking die and I never even got to see you naked, how stupid is that?”

Bones keeps his jaw tight, but stops trying to pull away from Jim’s grip. 

“You had plenty of time for that if you’d wanted it. You still don’t want it, not really, it’s just this damn-”

Suddenly, Jim pulls Bones in, tight against himself so that he can feel the raging hard on currently trying its hardest to break free from his uniform. Thing is, he can feel Bones’ too, Bones’ straining cock pressed against his own and even with like three layers of clothing between them it’s too damn good.

“I don’t think you understand me.” He keeps his voice low, pushes the words right into Bones’ mouth but doesn’t quite kiss him, not yet. “We’re going to die-”

“And you should be up on the bridge, going down with your ship like any good little captain. Why did you come down here, anyway, we have a comm link!”

“I didn’t want the fucking _bridge_ to the be the last thing I ever saw!”

That hangs between them for a moment. The words are ripped raw and desperate from Jim’s lungs, because the countdown just reached ten minutes, and he’s miscalculated this, hasn’t he? The Enterprise, Bones, everything, all this stuff that he should be able to do and it was all going so well but he’s failed, and he’s taking every damn thing he’s ever loved down with him-

“God fucking _damn it_ ,” Bones growls, before taking Jim’s mouth with his own. It’s not the kind of kiss you’d expect if you were about to die, but absolutely the kind of kiss Jim would expect from Bones, deep and slow and thorough, lacking in speed but not in strength, in urgency but not in heat. It’s the kiss of a man who doesn’t have anything to prove, who has long since been seduced – a man who can’t do anything more than feel. Bones tangles his tongue with Jim’s, rocks his hips incrementally and generally just pulls any self-control Jim thought he had right out from under him. It suddenly becomes the single most important thing in the _universe_ to get Bones’ shirt off, and everything else too, maybe, but he’s not even sure that they’re going to get that far.

They stumble back against one of the benches. Loath as he is to reclaim his mouth from Bones, he pulls away just long enough to wrench the undershirt off and groan at the sight of all that tanned, slick expanse of skin.

“How the fuck did you even _happen_ , Bones?” Jim licks a stripe down Bones’ throat, nips at a collarbone. “Did you parents sell their souls, or something? Do you bathe in the blood of maidens every night?”

“The hell are you talkin’ about, boy?” But there’s no frustration in it, just breathy want as Jim gets to work on claiming Bones’ body for his own, planting little pink marks and bruises and teeth marks wherever his mouth falls over the skin. “God, kid, I never thought-“

The brief break Jim takes to look up at Bones at those words is all that’s needed for his own uniform to be whipped away, for bare chest to meet bare chest and Jim is a little bit overcome by all this skin. It’s so perfect, so fucking _good_ , goodness in its purest form and this is the last thing he’s ever going to feel and he might be okay with that.

“Never thought what?” They’re back to talking into each other’s mouths, only this time they’re actually kissing between words and Bones is doing this thing where he tugs at Jim’s bottom lip at the same time as he scratches up and down Jim’s spine and it makes Jim want to fucking yowl from how amazing it is.

“’S’not important.”

Jim wraps his arms around Bones’ neck, digs one hand into a shoulder and the other into his hair so that he can’t look away, can’t deny him this.

“Bones.”

“Jim, don’t.” He doesn’t even try and keep his eyes open once the hand that was on his waist wanders downwards, settles on his ass and presses them closer together so that it’s all wonderful friction. His head sags when their hips start to roll against each other, and his fingers must be leaving marks over Bones’ back as he tightens his grip on the other man, rests their foreheads together as they move.

Jim can feel it building, and it’s kind of like fucking when you’re drunk, everything blurring and going a bit too quickly but painless and effortless in a way that sober sex never quite achieves. 

“Oh, Christ.” Bones groans, peppering kisses across his cheek until his lips come to rest against his ear. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this. Showin’ me all the things I’ll never get to have.”

“You should’ve said something.” Jim’s panting harshly now, hips thrusting and rutting against Bones in alternate staccato and slow drag. “Bones, you should have fucking _said_.”

“Five minutes to planetary destruction.” echoes in.

It seems to spur Bones on. He cups the back of his head, holds him in place whilst he all but growls in Jim’s ear. “You’re too damn brave and too God damn good for me, kid. You drive me up the fucking wall, y’know? Can never decide whether I want to punch your lights out or sit you on my cock.”

“ _Bones_.”

“And how the fuck did you not know? You’re a bona-fucking-fide genius, and you couldn’t figure out why I’d do nigh on fucking anything for you?”

“So I’m an idiot and you want to fuck me,” Jim stutters a laugh. He’s so _close_. “You and the rest of Starfleet.”

Bones wraps his hands into the scruff of Jim’s neck and wrenches him back so that they’re eye to eye. He looks fucking feral now, a man backed into a corner with nowhere else to go and everything to live for.

“Now who’s playin’ dumb.” His hips are moving relentlessly and Jim’s making little noises in the back of throat as they push against each other.

“I’m not just another warm body, Jimmy. I’d fucking take you apart. I’d make you beg. I’d mark you and swallow you and fill you up so good, Jim, I’d make sure you’d never want another damn idiot again, ‘cause you can take anything so I’d give you _everything_ , and then I’d do it again and again and again, God, Jim, you’re so damn-”

He comes then, not surprisingly, with a gasp and a shudder that rocks him to the very core, empties him and exhausts him in a blurry haze that barely leaves him conscious enough to register Bones doing the same. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Bones’ shoulder, breathes in the smell of his skin, and waits. He vaguely registers a kiss pressed to his temple, and almost misses the “Kid, I -”

“I know, Bones. I swear I do.”

The moment is kind of ruined when they don’t die.

~

It takes three weeks, two communications with the Admiralty board and a ship wide order for shore leave before he can get Bones alone again.

The Enterprise is in dry dock and the crew is scattered. Bones, however, seems to think that shore leave is the perfect opportunity to scare bright-eyed cadets into actual competence through a series of seminars at the Academy. They’re entirely voluntary and completely terrifying. 

The hall is full every day.

One afternoon after the last of the clamoring masses have left the hall Jim makes his move. He was in the back, sitting amongst a bunch of instructors, watching as a gradually more agitated Bones captivated the room with tales from the front lines of intergalactic medicine. A man who thought he’d never even make it off the shuttle to the ‘Fleet. It’s not pride that Jim feels, exactly, but that is part of it; it’s more of an acceptance. One that he’s been grappling with since that day in the med lab – one that he’s been struggling to understand for years, if he’s being really honest.

“Didn’t know you were interested in medicine.” Bones isn’t even looking up from his gear, but he knows that it’s Jim coming down the stairs. Of course he knows.

“You wound me, Bones. I’ve always been interested. How many ways can you fracture a bone? How much alcohol will shut my liver down? How many ways can I get stuck with a hypospray?”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s pretty funny.” Jim tries not to watch too intently as Bones comes out from behind the desk, his body-hugging greys only slightly rumpled from the animated lecture. He begins to remember what Bones looks like beneath the jacket, but snaps himself out of it. He has a job to do.

“But if I’m being honest, it’s only partially why I’m here.”

“Is it, now.” Bones cocks an eyebrow. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“Well, it’s just that we still have two weeks of leave. And I happen to know that tomorrow is your last talk.”

“And?”

Bones is completely impervious and Jim has to stick his courage to keep going. 

“We have some catching up to do.” 

Bones’ face starts to fall into a glare and Jim gets the distinct impression that that was not the way to open his argument. Fuck, he needs to do some damage control, and quick.

“What I mean to say is, somewhat shockingly, humping you in a med lab in an infected stupor didn’t make me any less in love with you than I already was and I’d really like to take you home to Iowa and I believe you also said something about me sitting on your cock?” 

Bones is still glaring and doesn’t stop once Jim finishes his rambling excuse. But it’s not the bad kind of glare, he realizes after a moment. 

“Iowa’s as cold as balls this time of year, kid.”

Jim clenches his hands inside his pockets. He is not panicking and not upset. Not at all. This is kind of what he expected, after all, they were both kind of out of their fucking minds when the whole thing happened. Bones probably never even meant anything he said.

“Okay then. I understand. It’s fine, I’ll see you after-”

“Jim.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Any reply he might’ve made gets cut off when Bones takes a step forward and slants his mouth over his. It’s chaste and quick, barely more than a hello, but still entirely enough to draw the breath from Jim’s lungs and set his lips tingling.

When he draws back, Jim is pretty sure he’s grinning like an idiot. But it’s okay.

Bones is smiling too.


End file.
